


The Aftermath

by Slytheringirle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytheringirle/pseuds/Slytheringirle
Summary: Takes place after the fall of the barricade. Marius had just been declared healthy enough to leave the house and goes to visit the Musain with the help of Cosette. Watch him sing Empty Chairs at Empty Tables.Disclaimer: Some of the lines are taken directly out of the 2012 Les Miserbales movie and I don't own or claim them in any way, shape or form.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in under an hour and wanted to post it just for fun. No hate please and hate comment will be deleted.

The early morning sun rose softly over the ruins of the Musain, it’s rays spilling over the destroyed wood and fallen boys. The battle had continued till late at night, just before dawn, and when the National Guard finally took over, they left the ruins as they were -left them for the locals to clean, for the families of the dead.

It had taken about two hours for said locals to discover the bodies, but things were quick afterwards; they split into groups where some were responsible for the corpses and others for the cafe. It, however, took two days for the actual mourner to come.

Cosette  helped Marius get off the carriage, politely asking the driver to wait for them whilst. They slowly made their way down the street, towards where they knew the cafe would be. With each step, Marius considered turning back, leaving. How could he go there? How will he be able to face the empty chairs, the silence? He wished he could say he hoped he was dead; but he really wasn’t. How could he with Cossette at his arms?

The path to the Musian wasn’t long, but it was particularly shorter today as he didn’t want to get there. But when he finally did, he silently turned to Cosette and asked her to wait here. She nodded, like she understood -and of course she did, that beautiful girl always did.

He set on by himself into the cafe.

The sight that greeted Marius was one of the most and beautiful and the uglies he’s ever seen. The place was clean, but the flooring was knocked in and some windows were glassless while the bar was shelveless and empty. Perhaps people would wonder about the beauty in it, or even the grotesque ugliness he’d described earlier and the answer was simple: his friends. It showed that they had fought here, that they stood against the Guard in hope for a bright future for France, and it also showed that they had failed, have fallen.

He continued in and reached the staircase leading to their what was meeting place. Some of the stairs were shattered and others looked like they’d barely hold his weight, but Marius took his chances and a step forward. The wood freaked and wailed under his weight, but held on. Relieved, he continued his way -skipping over especially fragile ones and destroyed others- and before he knew it he had reached the second floor.

He stood for a moment to take it in. It looked less damaged than the first floor; there was only one missing window pane and the furniture seemed complete and unharmed, the bar included.

He took a step forward, and the another and another, and another. He was at their meeting place, where they had sat, laughed and drunk till the wee hours of the morning. Drunk. Grantaire. His ears were yearning for his drunken speeches, his lyrical waxing about Greek gods and oh lord, Enjolras’s resemblance to them. But he was also looking for Jehan’s poetry, Courfyrac’s laughter, Combeferre muttering to himself as he memorised his medical texts and Bahoral’s barking laughs. And that’s when it him anew: his friends were dead and weren’t coming back. The realisation was like a brick on the chest, painful and suffocating and at that moment he truly wished he was with them; six feet under. His knees collapsed underneath him and he fell onto the floor.

“There’s a pain that can’t be spoken,” the words escaped him without consent. “There’s a pain that goes on and on.”

_ “We’re fighting for a better France!” Yelled Enjolras, his voice full with fever and determination. “It’ll be an honour to die.” _

_ It was the night before the battle and they were all on edged, eagerly anticipating and fearing the next day’s events. Jehan was less focused on poetry and Courfeyrac and Bahorle were the somberest he’s ever seen them. Even Combeferre had put down his book. All, apparently, except Grantaire.  _

_ He stood up, pushing his chair back with a creak, and addressed the assembled friends, the only smiling face among the gloomy and dreary. “My friends, we gather here today in celebration of the lives that we led. Don’t despair that it’s over, merely be glad that it’s going to be quick. We’re going to be seeing Thanatos next evening.” And then he took his seat. _

_ No one said anything; they couldn’t. And so the night went on, with no one speaking and everyone privately trying to make something of Grantaire’s strange speech. _

_ " _ There is a pain that goes on and on.” He remembers when the kindly old man died, remembered when Eponine died, when  _ Gavroche  _ died. Oh lord, why did you save me? What did I do to deserve this misery?

“Empty chairs at empty tables,” who’s going to occupy these tables next? Will it be another revolutionary group? Maybe some businessmen, or drunk youth. But it certainly won’t be the amis. “Now my friends are dead and gone.”

“Here they talked of revolution.” Enjolras, his voice raised at the mesmerised crowd. “Here it was they lit the flame.” Combeferre and Courfeyrac shouting along with him, agreement and excitement on their faces. “Here they sang about tomorrow,” Graintaire, addressing them with his drunken, beautifully threaded speeches. Jehan reading his poetry, Bahhorel winning another fist fight, Musichetta smiling in the back as she wiped the glasses, Feuilly smiling at them… “And tomorrow never came.”

He doesn’t know how long he sat there, time lost all meaning as the memories flashed before his eyes. Maybe that was it, maybe his way going to die, be it of grief or his injuries. It didn’t matter, he was going to see his friends again -yes. The lights, there it is. He just has to follow it, follow the light. He could Enjolras calling out for him ‘Come my friend, join us in the garden of the Lord, we will walk behind the Plough-share-’

“-Marius?” He was startled out of his mind and found himself looking into sky-blue eyes. Cosette was crouched down with him, her hand gently placed on his shoulder. “Do you want to go home my love?”

“I-” He opened his mouth and closed it like a goldfish. “Yes, I’d love to go home.” She helped him up and gently led him down the stairs. As they existed the Musain Marius cast one last look over his shoulder and turned back to Cosette, feeling his heart settle in his chest, content. He’ll see his friends one day, he was sure of that, but for now he has Cosette and he'll do the most he can out of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...So? I've been out of the fandom for a while to be honest and I probably massacred the names spellings, but otherwise? I wasn't planning on writing anything cuz well, I have been out of the fandom as I said, but it's BARRICADE DAY! I'm just glad I didn't forget it cuz I've been forgetting the Battle of Hogwarts for years now and beat myself over it every single time. Oh, and I also didn't think anyone was going to be posting anything because of the #BLM movement. (btw if can think of a way to help the movement with writing them lemme know pls)


End file.
